


the man but not the light

by inlovewithnight



Series: Pretty [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Breathplay, Consent Issues, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Panthers get Jagr, and the house of cards falls down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the man but not the light

They get Jagr. Aaron really did not see that coming.

Coach Gerard gives them a long lecture about making the guy feel welcome, and treating him like they’d treat anybody else, and being ready to step up their play to his level, and a lot of other stuff that was kind of contradictory. Aaron doesn’t really listen to most of it. He’ss thinking about _Jaromir Jagr_. Jaromir fuckin’ Jagr. 

“He was awesome before I was even born,” he tells Barkov and Campbell after the meeting.

Campbell gives him a patient look. “Maybe don’t tell him that.”

“I won’t.” Aaron isn’t sure he was going to talk to Jagr at all. He’ll just stay out of his way and focus on not making a fool of himself. That’s the safest plan.

By the time he gets home the news has hit the press and somebody has helpfully turned up the fact that Jagr scored his 200th career point the day Aaron was born. Awesome and humiliating.

He shuts himself in his room and texts Geno about it. _Did you hear we got Jagr?_

There’s a little pause before the answer comes. _Hadn’t heard that wow. Didn’t think he’d end up there._

_It’s not the worst thing in the world._

He can picture Geno rolling his eyes when he reads the response. _Don’t get upset. You’re a good team. You’ll like playing with Jags._

_I’m really excited._

Another pause; he pictures Geno lifting an eyebrow. _How excited?_

Aaron hesitates before he answers, running his tongue over his teeth and staring at the phone. Maybe he can run a little test of his own, here. See if he’s figured any of this out correctly. _I bet I could learn a lot from him, you know? Some more lessons._

The pause before Geno’s reply stretches out long enough that Aaron’s pretty sure he has not figured out anything correctly at all. 

Geno’s response is just _Careful_.

Yeah, Aaron definitely fucked up. _Sorry_.

_Not the boss of you_ , Geno replies. _Do what you want._

Now Aaron’s even more confused. _What?_

Geno doesn’t answer, and a little bit later Willie knocks on the door and tells Aaron that when Jagr gets to town, he should show him around a little and help him out with whatever he might need.

“Like… anything?” Aaron asks, fully aware that he sounds and looks like an idiot, sitting there on his bed in his boxers clutching his phone.

Willie stares at him for a minute. “Well, if he wants you to help him murder a hobo, maybe not, but otherwise…”

And okay, that’s clear enough, so Aaron agrees.

**

He hits it off really well with Jagr. Or _Jags_ , as he’s quickly told to call him; he makes the mistake of calling him _Mr. Jagr_ just once and it makes Jags laugh so hard he almost chokes.

Management has already shown him everything official, so Aaron just drives him around and points out good restaurants, bars the other guys go to a lot, which beaches are fairly private, and the shortcut to get to the practice facility without having to make left turns through oncoming traffic.

“Important shit,” Jags says approvingly. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, of course.” Aaron drives back to the apartment management booked for their new star. It’s a swanky place, definitely meant to impress. He’s impressed, anyway. Jagr’s probably stayed in better.

“Can I help you with anything else?” he asks, twisting in his seat to face him.

“Come inside,” Jagr answers. “Have a beer. I appreciate you taking so much time.”

“It’s no problem,” Aaron says quickly. “I don’t mind.”

“Come in for a drink. I insist.”

Well, okay, if he insists. “Where should I park?”

Jagr smiles patiently. “The valet will take it. Come with me.”

The inside of the apartment is nice, too. Like, Aaron’s whole contract probably pays for a week in this place. He is not in the same class as Jags, in case he forgot.

The beer Jags hands him is normal, at least. Beer he recognizes as beer and can chug down in a hurry.

Jagr watches him with a grin. “Easy.”

“Thirsty,” Aaron mumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s been a long day.”

“Want another?”

“Sure, if you’ve got it.” He kills the rest of the beer and sets the bottle aside, careful to place it on a flier for a restaurant so he won’t leave moisture rings on the counter.

“I always have beer. That’s what makes it home.”

Aaron takes another drink and steps cautiously out of the kitchen. “Mind if I look around the place?”

Jagr gestures down the hall with the hand holding his beer, pulling his phone out with the other. Aaron walks past the living room, a room set up as an office, an empty bedroom, and a bathroom he could skate warm-ups in. The last door past the bathroom leads to another bedroom, this one bigger and with clothes tossed casually around. Aaron steps inside and turns a slow circle, then takes a drink. What life looks like for a franchise player. He’s going to do this one day. He _knows_ it.

It’s still an apartment, though; it doesn’t quite match up to Geno’s place in Pittsburgh. He grins around the mouth of the bottle, imagining Geno and Jagr in a pissing match over living space. Maybe he should text Geno a picture of Jagr’s bedroom and caption it “size matters,” or something. Maybe that would get Geno to text him back again so things stop being weird.

He gets his phone out and takes the picture, but before he can send, Jagr comes in. “Do you always check out the bedroom first when you visit people?”

Aaron laughs and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “No, not always.”

“So I’m special, then?”

“Well, yeah.” That _has_ to be a joke. “You’re Jaromir Jagr.”

“Please don’t start that again.” Jagr leans against the wall and studies him. “You make me feel old.”

“I bet you’ll still kick my ass all over the ice.”

“I bet I will too, but you’ll make me work for it.” He looks at Aaron for another beat, then takes a drink. “How are they treating the rookies these days?”

“Uh.” Aaron takes a drink himself, wondering how to answer that. “Good, I think. Pretty good.”

“I’m not misreading why you came back here?”

It’s such a relief that Jagr is up-front about it. Him and Geno, getting to the point. “I’m here for whatever you want.”

“That’s great.” Jagr crosses the room and takes the bottle from Aaron’s hand, placing it and his own on a table by the window. “Come here, then.”

Aaron goes to him, mentally loosening up and watching for cues. Jagr is still smiling, watching him, and when Aaron is close enough, Jagr catches his face in his hands, tugs him close, and kisses him. It’s rough and exploratory, nothing gentle about it, but Aaron closes his eyes and goes with it, like he’d yield space on the ice, waiting for the next move to become clear.

Jagr pulls back and rubs his thumb over Aaron’s lower lip. “Good?”

“Yeah.” Aaron feels breathless, his chest tight. “Definitely good.”

Jagr nods toward the bed. “Yes?”

And that’s where everything’s been leading all along, so Aaron tugs his t-shirt off and goes.

**

He tells Willie that he took care of everything for Jags, which earns him a pat on the back and a “good job, kid” before the inevitable “go take a nap before practice.” Which, fuck that, Aaron is not a _toddler_ , but he’ll take the downtime, sure.

A few minutes before they’re supposed to leave, Willie knocks on his door, a weird expression on his face. “When you were taking care of stuff for Jags…”

Aaron waits patiently, bouncing a little on his toes to get the blood flowing.

“Did you by any chance run that by Malkin first?”

“Run it by him,” Aaron echoes. “What?”

Willie rubs his forehead. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna let Jagr cover this one. Find him after practice, okay? I… I think I missed a chapter somewhere in the handbook nobody gave me, about raising rookies 101.”

“You’re not my dad, dude.”

“Thank god for that,” Willie mutters. “I’ll see you at the car.”

**

When Jags finds Aaron after practice, he isn’t smiling. “You didn’t tell me you were Malkin’s.”

“I didn’t know that I was.” Not with that use of the possessive. “I mean, we have kind of a thing, but it’s totally separate from… from the rookie stuff. The learning experiences.”

“Right. You’re his rookie, personally, so nobody else is supposed to be touching you.”

All of the things that haven’t made any sense to Aaron are starting to take a hazy shape. “His thing with me isn’t about me being a rookie. It’s just about… us. It’s totally separate from that.”

“Okay, yeah. I get you. But when you have a separate thing, you shouldn’t still be messing around with the rest of us, you know? It’s fucking rude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aaron says with as much dignity as he has left.

Jagr eyes him for a moment, then shakes his head. “Shit,” he says with more eloquence than the word usually gets. “You’d better call him and have him explain it to you, then.”

“He’s not exactly answering my messages right now.” At least now he has some idea _why_.

“Better get ready to grovel, you know? Get on your knees for him. Might still get his attention.”

Jagr leaves and Aaron sits there for a few minutes, wondering how much damage he could really do if he bashed the chairs against the wall a couple dozen times. Enough that they’d fine him for it? Probably.

He sits still instead, and sends Geno a couple of texts, not quite begging for answers. They don’t come.

**

Aaron is used to doing what he’s told. That’s pretty much been his entire life since he was fifteen, after all: doing what he’s told, and playing hockey. There’s a certain stability there that he’s come to rely on.

So when they have a three-day break, and Willie comes up to him after practice and tells him to go to the airport instead of going home, he just does it. He’s already checked in for a flight to Atlanta, and the boarding pass has been forwarded to his phone. He goes through security, waits at the gate, and boards before it occurs to him to wonder what the fuck is going on.

Willie ignores his texts, so he just sits there and lets the plane take him to Atlanta.

There’s an airport employee waiting at the gate with a sign that says “Mr. Ekblad.” Aaron realizes that he’s wearing track pants and a hoodie, smells like a locker room, and probably looks like a misplaced college student more than anyone who should be taken seriously. Still, he goes over to the woman and says, “I’m Aaron Ekblad.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” She folds up the sign. “I’m supposed to direct you to the 40/40 Club on concourse D. Your party is waiting for you there.”

“Thank you. Do you happen to know who my party is?”

She gives him a profoundly unimpressed look. “No, but he said you will.”

“I’m really confused about this whole thing. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

She points to their left. “Concourse D is that way. Good luck.”

Aaron sighs and sets off down the long corridor from the gate to the even longer corridor forming the spine of the airport. He should’ve asked for one of the carts, or something. It’s not like he can’t walk it, but he doesn’t see why he _has_ to.

He finds the 40/40 Club and tells the host that he’s supposed to be meeting someone. “You must be Mr. Ekblad,” comes the reply. “Right back there in the corner.”

Aaron trudges the final twenty feet of this profoundly weird journey and finds himself looking at Sid Crosby.

“Aaron, hey,” Crosby says, wiping his mouth and gesturing at the seat across from him. “Glad you made it.”

Aaron sits, because following directions is much easier than figuring out what’s going on.

“Sorry to pull you away from your days off,” Crosby continues, pushing menu at him. “I figured Miami to Atlanta, that’s a short flight, we can probably have you home by dinner, really. Unless you decide to stay over. I’m not trying to dictate what you should do.”

“Uh huh,” Aaron says after a long pause where Crosby seems to be waiting for a response. “What?”

“Order something. A drink at least. Please. It’s on me.”

Aaron stares at the menu for a minute, orders a burger with fries and a Coke, and resumes staring at Crosby, who at least has the grace to look uncomfortable.

“Here’s the thing,” Crosby says finally. “Geno’s upset. And when Geno’s upset, my whole life gets more difficult.”

“You’re the third person to tell me Geno is upset. But I haven’t heard it from him, because he’s not talking to me.”

“Right.” Crosby sighs and takes a drink. “His feelings are hurt.”

Aaron nods. “Because I messed around with Jagr.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get that.”

Crosby blinks. “What’s not to get? You guys have a thing, or he _thought_ you had a thing, and you… well, you cheated on him, man.”

“No.” Aaron puts his hand on the table, over the midline and into Crosby’s space. “No, totally not. I wouldn’t do that.”

Finally, someone else looks as confused as Aaron feels. “But you did do it.”

“No, I didn’t.” He taps his fingers on the table. “Geno and me, that’s one thing, that’s, like… like you said. It’s a _thing_. Jags, that was just, like, a learning thing. Like with the captains.”

Crosby squints at him. “You’re gonna have to be a little more clear on what you think the difference is.”

And that, right there, leaves Aaron with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, because Crosby’s words, tone, everything, make it clear that whatever Aaron _thinks_ has been wrong all along. He fucked up.

“The stuff with the captains,” he says, trying to sound more certain than he now feels, “and the stuff with Jagr, that’s not… that’s not sex, it’s hockey. It’s like I went to an extra skate. It doesn’t… it’s not the same thing.”

Crosby settles back in his chair and looks at Aaron for a minute, then exhales slowly through clenched teeth. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”

Aaron ducks his head for a moment, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Like making a mistake on the ice, he’ll breathe through it, center himself, and ask for correction. That’s how it works. “What did I do wrong?”

“You’re nineteen years old.”

Aaron looks up, expecting Crosby to be laughing, but he’s not. He’s looking at Aaron with real sympathy. “I can’t really… do anything about that.”

“I know. That’s my point.” Crosby shrugs. “They make such a big deal about you being mature for your age. Physically mature, emotionally mature. They don’t, like, allow for the fact that there’s also just, like, knowing who you _are_. Having a sense of self. That runs on its own timeline.”

Aaron rubs his hands on his thighs, letting his gaze fall back to the table top. “A sense of self.”

“When the guys would tell you to do things, the captains, did you ever even consider saying no?”

He knows he’s answering this question wrong, but he can’t lie to Sid Crosby. Especially not when Crosby is helping him fix stupid mistakes that come from not being _ready_. “No. Why would I say no to a captain? He’s the captain. I do what captains and coaches say.”

“Of course you do.” Crosby sounds so _gentle_. “You’ve been playing this game your whole life. You went away from home when you were fifteen. People always telling you you’re going to be a superstar, that the game is gonna be your life, that you should do things that are good for hockey because hockey is good for you. Right? I’m just speculating here, but that’s the kind of stuff they told me.”

Aaron shrugs, staring at the ring of water slowly spreading outward from Crosby’s beer. “Maybe. Yeah.”

“And you never really had a chance to sit down and figure stuff out for yourself, because nobody ever put that in a playbook.”

“I feel really stupid.”

“Hey. No. That’s, like, the opposite, man.” Crosby sits up in his chair, then leans forward, reaching out to touch Aaron’s shoulder. “The system ran a game on you and nobody noticed that you didn’t have any way to figure it out on your own. That’s not on you. It’s on the front office, and Mitchell, and the whole goddamn league. Not you.”

“Willie’s a good guy. It’s not his fault.”

“Okay.” Crosby sits back again, still watching him carefully. “But it’s not your fault either.”

“I could’ve asked. I could’ve, like… thought about it more. Tried harder.”

“Not everything is fixed by trying harder. That lesson’s a freebie, okay? Between you and me.” 

Aaron nods a little, takes another breath, and sits up straight. “What do I do now?”

“You eat your burger, we talk about something less bullshit, and then you can either get on a plane back to Miami, or you can go see Geno.”

“He’s here?”

“Yeah. I brought him down with me. He’s got a room at the Hilton.” Crosby places a key card on the table. “If you want to see him, cool. If you don’t, that’s also cool. Up to you.”

Aaron makes himself look Crosby in the eye. “He’s really pissed at me?”

“I talked to him about the whole… thing. What I guessed was going on. Looks like I was pretty accurate, so…” Crosby shrugs. “He’s not going to take anything out on you.”

“So he is pissed at me.”

“He’s pissed at the whole situation.”

“Does he _want_ to see me?”

Crosby raises an eyebrow. “You think he would’ve flown down here with me if he didn’t?”

“That’s true.” Aaron sighs and shakes his head. “Was it the same for you, or…”

“Mario looked out for me.” Crosby looks distant for a minute. “He was protective, and good at explaining stuff about the league. So even though I didn’t have the whole sense of self thing, I wasn’t totally in the middle of nowhere, either. He’d check me if I was getting into trouble.”

Aaron doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t blame Willie, not at all, Willie’s been nothing but good to him, but it sounds like what Lemieux did for Crosby was really different. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure.” Crosby picks up his beer and takes a long swallow. “So they’re still pushing the Vegas expansion, eh?”

The tension easing is a physical relief. “That’s what we all need, right?”

“What, you wouldn’t like to live in Vegas?” Crosby grins at him. “Same kind of party town as Miami.”

“Yeah, when you’re comparing to Pittsburgh.”

Crosby bursts out laughing and Aaron lets himself laugh, too, lets himself have a moment before he has to go back to working again.

**

Aaron stands outside the door to Geno’s room, looking at the key card in his hand and wondering if he really wants to do this. He wants to see Geno, he wants to fix things with Geno, but this has been a really, really long day.

Probably if he goes back to Florida without fixing it, though, Willie and Jagr will be pissed, and he _definitely_ can’t take any more lectures today. So he swipes the card and lets himself in.

Geno is lying on the bed, frowning at the TV. Aaron can’t tell what he’s watching, but it doesn’t matter, because as soon as Geno looks up and sees him, he turns the TV off.

“Hey,” Aaron says, setting the key card on top of the dresser. “So I’m really sorry about--”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Well, I am.” He looks at Geno and shrugs. “I should’ve talked to you about it. Or somebody. I should’ve talked to somebody.”

Geno is staring at him so intently, it makes him a little nervous. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No.” He shakes his head, wishing he knew what to do with his hands, or where to stand, or if he could sit, or… his body feels weird and too big and out of place and that all makes this conversation even harder. “You didn’t hurt me at all.”

“But you didn’t want it, right? You thought you had to do it.”

“The first time? I guess. I mean, it was… I thought it was part of hockey. Not part of, like, sex.” He clutches his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “But once you started texting me and stuff, and I realized you actually, like, liked me or whatever… then it was different.”

Geno nods slowly, still staring at him. “Different in a good way.”

“Yeah.” Aaron smiles, despite the tension, hoping it will ease the air in the room. “Totally good.”

“So Jags, that wasn’t telling me to fuck off.”

“No. It was welcoming him to the team.”

Geno laughs, finally breaking his steady gaze at Aaron. “Nice welcome.”

“I thought Willie was telling me to. I guess he really just meant show him around, not…” Aaron gestures. “It wasn’t a euphemism.”

“Let’s make a promise. No euphemisms.” Geno rubs the back of his neck. “Whatever I say, I mean it just like that.”

“I’d really, really appreciate that.” Aaron swallows, looking at him. Geno looks really fucking tired. “You mind if I sit down?”

“Please. Come sit.” Geno nods at the edge of the mattress, then hesitates and pats the space in the vee between his legs. “Here, if you want. Lean on me.”

Aaron laughs, crossing the room to the bed. “You want to hold me? Like I’m a teddy bear?”

“Is that no good?”

“It’s okay. Just, like. I didn’t know you liked… gentle stuff.”

“I’m very fucking gentle.” Geno reaches out and catches hold of Aaron, pulling him onto the bed and wrapping his arms around him. It does feel exactly like being a teddy bear.

He leans back against Geno, trying to figure out if he likes this or not. “So Jags said it was rude for me to be messing around. Are we dating? You and me?”

“I thought so.” Geno rests his chin on Aaron’s shoulder. “You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t know.” Aaron shifts a little, turning to look at him. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m really asking--when was I supposed to know?”

Geno laughs a little. “Gave you a collar.”

“Oh.” Aaron can’t believe how fucking dumb he is sometimes. “Yeah, that probably should’ve been a clue.”

Geno sighs, warm against his neck. “Okay now, pretty?”

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Geno shrugs. “Want to kiss you.”

Aaron turns around slowly, moving to face Geno and straddle his hips. “Yeah.”

They haven’t really had a lot of chances for slow making out, and it feels weird to have Geno being careful with him, but Aaron doesn’t have any complaints. Geno’s hands are as big and broad as Aaron’s own, spanning Aaron’s hips, and Aaron holds Geno’s arms loosely, steadying himself.

“Don’t have your present with you,” Geno says, turning his head to press his mouth to Aaron’s neck. He’s gentle on the throat, doesn’t bite until he makes his way down to Aaron’s shoulder, where the mark will be safely covered by his pads.

“I came right from practice.” Aaron closes his eyes and rocks down slowly against him, low dull heat moving through his body as they grind together. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Can do something else, if you want.”

“I like this.”

Geno’s teeth pinch sharply. “Mean something else on your neck.”

Aaron pulls back to look at him. “Like what?”

“Show you.” Geno’s hands tighten on Aaron’s hips and he flips him over, pushing him down on his back on the bed. Aaron laughs in surprise, blinking against the rush of blood to his head. 

“What are you--”

Geno’s hand settles on Aaron’s throat, and Aaron’s words cut off abruptly. “Easy,” Geno says, settling himself carefully over Aaron, braced on his free hand. “Not going to hurt you.”

“I know.” Aaron swallows, testing the pressure against his throat; barely any, now, but the implication of it has its own weight.

“Feels good,” Geno says. “If you trust me. Adrenaline rush, like in a game.”

That’s all Aaron needs to hear; anything that’s like being on the ice is something he wants. “Okay.”

“Good.” Geno slides one knee up between Aaron’s legs, pressing snug against his crotch. “Rub if you want to.”

Aaron wants to, definitely. The angle is weird and it would feel better if he had fewer clothes on, but he’ll take what he can get.

Geno kisses him again, slow and patient. _Disciplined_ , Aaron thinks, because that’s what control comes from, discipline; anything natural is wild and fierce and violent. Geno’s hand tightens on his throat incrementally, bit by bit, so he doesn’t realize he’s gasping into the kiss until his heart is pounding.

“Easy,” Geno murmurs, “easy,” and now he’s just looking into Aaron’s eyes, focused and intent, not kissing any more but breathing hot against Aaron’s mouth. Aaron’s pulse is throbbing in his head and it _hurts_ , but it hurts like practice hurts, it hurts like the last shift on the ice.

Geno eases the pressure for a moment and Aaron gasps, oxygen flooding his lungs, but just as his vision starts to clear Geno presses down again. So _this_ is how it works, off and on, air and choking, and it’s Geno’s choice. Aaron can only trust him and wait.

Aaron’s good at that, good at putting himself in someone else’s hands and letting go, but this time he knows where he’s going to end up: here, safe, with Geno beside him. He can hold on to that.

Geno kisses him again, stealing what breath he has, and Aaron arches up under him, trying to make contact, to get pressure on his dick, to find something to ground himself while his mind and pulse race. Geno is immobile, a stone, not taking anything away but not giving him anything either.

“Wait, pretty,” Geno says, kissing Aaron’s jaw and his temple. “I tell you when.”

Aaron tries to speak, but all that comes out is a helpless noise. It makes Geno grin and kiss him, shifting against him until they’re chest to chest and Aaron can feel his heart pounding, too. It helps.

He still doesn’t quite get what Crosby meant about having a sense of himself and knowing what he wants, but he knows he wants this. He wants Geno, and if he has to learn to say no to captains or coaches or the league, he’ll figure it out. If he has to learn how to tell Willie he doesn’t understand what’s going on sometimes, he’ll figure it out. If he has to learn a whole different way of dealing with his life, he’ll figure it out.

There’s a decent chance that’s what he was supposed to be learning in the first place.

Geno kisses him one more time and slides his hand down to wrap around him, guiding him to the edge, and Aaron lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of the story arc; I'm leaving the series open because I hope to write some one-offs and hopefully some kink_bingo fills in this 'verse, but the plot (...such as it is) is wrapped up here. 
> 
> The titles of all the fics have come from Richard Siken's poem "The Way The Light Reflects." 
> 
> I saw that a few people have taken the worldbuilding and run with it, and that really made my day. <3 Thanks for reading; I had fun writing this.


End file.
